It was the day before Christmas,—­a beautiful, mild day, very unlike the usual winter weather in the far West.  At the Ellistons’ windows hung wreaths of pine, and all about on tables and chairs tempting-looking packages were lying.  Some of these were from their military friends, and most of them were directed to “Major Molly,” the name that had been given to Molly when she was a little tot of a thing, and the pet of the fort where she lived.  On this Christmas day, as she watched her mother fold up the pretty bright tartan dress that was to be her Christmas present to Wallula, she said gleefully,—­

“Don’t forget, mamma, to write on the box, ’Wallula’s Christmas present from Major Molly.’”

It had been Molly’s intention to have Wallula to tea on Christmas eve, and then and there to bestow upon her the pretty gift.  But invitations to dine at the fort had frustrated this plan, and so it was arranged that Barney McGuire, one of the ranchmen, should come up and carry the box over to the reservation late that afternoon; and as the short winter day progressed, and Molly found that she must have a little more time to finish off the table-cover she wanted to take up to the Colonel’s wife, she said to her mother,—­

“Instead of going on with you and papa at five o’clock, let Barney escort me to the fort after he leaves Wallula’s present; that will give me plenty of time to finish the cover, and plenty of time to get to the dinner in season.”

“Very well,” answered Mrs. Elliston; “but you must promise me to start with Barney as soon as he comes back for you, whether the cover is finished or not.  You mustn’t be late.”

At five o’clock, when Captain Elliston and his wife rode off, Molly was working away at her cover with the greatest industry.  Now and then, as she worked on, she glanced up at the clock.  If everything went smoothly,—­if the silk didn’t knot or the lace didn’t pucker,—­she would be through long before Barney came back for her.  But presently she thought, where was Barney.  He ought to be there for the box by this time.  She worked on a little longer, her ear alert for the sound of Barney’s horse.  At last she went to an upper window and looked out.  She could see, even in the gathering dusk, a great distance from that window, away across toward the sheep-corrals and cattle-pens; but nobody was in sight.  What did it mean?  Barney was punctuality itself.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes more she worked with flying fingers, and still there was no sight or sound of Barney; but her work was finished, and now—­now, what then?